What being a prison pastoral care worker taught me about healing& presence
- Jody Williams
- Jul 21
- 4 min read
Lessons from the prison about presence, patience, and the sacred act of simply being with pain
I've sat in silence with men who've lost everything.
Not in a retreat center. In a prison.
The walls hum with grief, the kind most people never see. The kind most people turn away from.
But Buddhist pastoral care taught me to stay.
Not to fix.
Not to save.
To sit and be an empathetic witness.
The Man Who Wouldn't Speak
In 2018, I was already teaching yoga inside the prison when I applied for and was awarded a Mental Health and Addictions Grant from the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador.
The grant supported a recovery program I had created for individuals struggling with addiction, called the Mindfulness Yoga Recovery Program: a blend of movement, breathwork, mindfulness, and a 'sharing circle,' designed to meet people where they were, without judgment. It also allowed me to purchase eight Yoga Mats, Bolsters and blocks.
I remember bringing this 'new equipment ' into the prison that was built in 1859, older than Canada. The juxtaposition smacked me in the face.
That program became a turning point. It opened doors and built trust.
Shortly after, I was approached and asked to become the Buddhist Pastoral Care Worker for the prison.
That’s how I ended up in that chapel—week after week—holding space for men carrying more pain than most people could imagine.
And that’s where I met Marcus.
Marcus had been attending our weekly group session for two months without saying a word.
He’d slip in, take the same yoga mat in the back corner, close his eyes during the sitting practice, look down during yoga, and remain silent for sharing.
The other men would steal glances at him, but never held eye contact for long. His quiet presence commanded respect in a place where most men fought for it.
One evening, after everyone else had filtered out, Marcus stayed. He sat there, hands folded, staring at the floor.
I could have filled the silence with questions and asked what was wrong. Offered advice about letting go or finding peace.
Instead, I sat.
For ten minutes, we breathed together in that empty room. He wrestled with something I couldn’t see. I learned to trust that presence was enough.
Finally, he spoke:
“My daughter would be eighteen today. I haven’t seen her since she was seven.”
No dramatic breakdown. Just truth, raw and quiet.
That moment landed hard.
I was raising my daughter alone, and she was seven at the time.
I didn’t try to heal his grief. I didn’t offer perspective about forgiveness or moving forward.
I said, “You must carry so much pain. Your heart has been breaking for 11 years."
He nodded, his jaw tightening as a single tear fell onto the dirty floor.
We sat more.
The next week, Marcus started sharing in the group.
Not because I had the perfect response.
Because he felt what happens when someone witnesses pain without trying to fix it.
Real Healing Is Presence
Most people think healing is a destination.
A "better" version of yourself.
A life with no more triggers.
No more breakdowns. No more 3 a.m. anxiety spirals.
But in prison, I learned otherwise.
Healing is presence.
Healing is choosing to be with what hurts, without abandoning yourself.
Healing means holding space for someone else’s shame without flinching, because you've learned to hold your own.
Your nervous system doesn’t need you to be perfect. Your nervous system wants you to listen and be present.
Real Healing Doesn’t Happen on a Timeline
In Buddhism, we say: No mud, no lotus.
The lotus doesn’t bloom on your schedule. Neither does healing.
Healing is a process, not an event. It requires time, understanding, and patience.
Marcus carried the weight of missing his daughter’s entire childhood.
Some of the other men I work with are drowning in decades of shame.
Some are angry.
Some are numb.
Some have built walls so thick, they’ve forgotten what’s behind them.
There’s no quick fix for trauma. No 30-day challenge.
No morning routine that erases decades of pain.
But when someone feels seen—without judgment, without agenda, without someone trying to “heal” them—something shifts.
Not always visibly.Not always fast.
But something opens.
And that opening is sacred.
Real Healing Happens in Relationship
We heal in connection. Always.
Your nervous system doesn’t regulate in isolation.
Trauma doesn’t resolve in a vacuum. Peace doesn’t arrive only in perfect conditions.
What I witnessed with Marcus, and countless others, was this:
Sometimes the most radical act is being there.
Breathing with someone who’s breathing through hell. Offering presence in a place designed to strip away humanity.
In those quiet moments, something deeply human returns.
Not because I said the right thing.Not because I had the perfect technique.
Because presence is medicine.
And presence is something we all carry.
We all have the power to heal, simply by being present and offering understanding.
I Thought Healing Was About Rising
Now I know: healing is about softening.
Softening into truth. Into imperfection. Into this moment, precisely as it is.
I used to think I had to be strong, wise, and unshakable to help people heal.
Now I know: the real power is in showing up cracked open, and still choosing compassion.
Still choosing to sit with what hurts. Still choosing presence over performance.
Marcus taught me something I’ll never forget: Healing isn’t about transcending pain.
Healing is about learning to be with pain, without drowning.
Healing is about finding the courage to feel what we’ve been running from.
This Is What I Bring to Every Retreat
Not perfect wisdom. Not borrowed techniques.
Presence. Truth. The willingness to sit in the mud and wait for the lotus.
Your nervous system has been waiting for this kind of presence.
Are you ready to give your nervous system what it needs?
Ready to experience this kind of healing presence?
Join my upcoming HEAL retreat in September, where we discover the medicine of pure presence and learn to become your own empathetic witness.
Simply presence. Simply truth.
Learn more about the HEAL Retreat
Much peace and love to you,
Jody
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